Congruence
by Lavenderangel
Summary: Postep for 323. I want you to be my goddamned maid of honor. Complete.


Title: Congruence

Author: Lauren

Rating: PG

Summary: Meredith/Cristina postep for 3-23. "I want you to be my goddamned maid of honor." Sappy.

Author's notes: I felt cheated we got no Meredith/Cristina interaction during tonight's episode, so I wrote this. I really struggle with dialogue, so constructive criticism would very much be appreciated.

Disclaimer: The characters and events referenced within do not belong to me.

---

"Dr. Shepard."

"Dr. Yang."

Wow, this will be fun. He's slumped over his desk, staring at some paperwork. She supposes she should have knocked, but formalities come to her as an afterthought when it involves asses like Derek Shepard. The door was only most of the way closed, anyway. Plenty of room for her to stick her head in like she is.

"Have you seen Meredith?"

Cristina is taken aback when he asks the question she was about to pose.

"I thought she was reporting her every breath to you?" She rolls her eyes at the weirdness of their relationship, but knows her own isn't much better.

"Not today. I need to talk to her though, where is she?"

Cristina shrugs, turning away. He's obviously going to be no help.

---

"Cristina!" Normal Izzie is annoying. A clearly tipsy Izzie does not appear to be much better. "We're toasting to crappy things. Want to play?"

"No," she says shortly. Alcohol might make this easier, but she supposes a part of her wants Meredith to realize the seriousness of this. "There you are," she says, spotting her doing shots with Alex. Great. At least she's finally found her…

"Hi!" Are any of them sober? God.

"Come on," Cristina demands, taking the glass from her and pulling Meredith to her feet.

"Hey!" She protests, but lets Cristina lead her upstairs regardless.

"How drunk are you?"

"I'm not drunk. I'm just… not sober."

"Perfect. Can you get sober?"

"No. I had a shitty day. I don't want to think straight."

"Mcasshole was looking for you," Cristina remembers.

"I don't want to see him."

"The communication period of your relationship over already?

Meredith wanders into her bedroom and flops on the bed. "I was drinking to i not /i talk about Derek," she whines.

Cristina joins her, wincing at the sharp bite of alcohol in the air. "I have to ask you something," she says instead of doing the easy thing and pressing the Derek subject.

"As long as it's not about Derek or fathers. Or mothers."

"Oh, yeah. Wasn't Susan in the hospital today?"

"What did I just say!" She glares at her, but the effect is ruined by the fact her gaze is not quite focused.

"Okay, sorry." She pauses, twisting the edge of the bedspread between her fingers. "So the mothers dearest have discovered the wedding," she finally sighs. "And I have to pick out all this crap. As if the stupid cake wasn't enough."

"Do you want me to help you pick out decorations or something, because I think Izzie would be better for that."

"No, they're doing that. I need to pick bridesmaids and…" oh Jesus. This is so stupid. "A maid of honor. So will you do it?"

"Pick your bridesmaids?"

God, she must be drunk. "No, be my goddamned maid of honor."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You're the only one besides Burke I really wanted there in the first place," she admits grudgingly. Meredith is looking at her weird, almost surprised. "Come on, Mere. You know… you know you're my person and stuff," she finishes lamely. "You're like family, I guess. But family I'd actually like to be around."

"Don't say that," Meredith cuts in.

"What, you know I don't like my mom. You don't like your mom – "

"My mom's dead."

"I know, but what…"

"So is my fake mom. Both my moms are dead. And my dad hates me, because he thinks it's my fault. He – he hit me," she says in a rush. "And Derek saw. And Derek can't breathe for me anymore. I asked him not to leave me, I said I was better. But then I ran away from him after Thatcher… after… he saw.

"So you can't call me family, because families are stupid and mean and die. So I can't be that for you, even though I called you my sister. But you can't be that, because I don't want you to hate me," she gasps, a tide of tears glistening in her eyes. Her breaths are quick and she is watching Cristina with a kind of wiled intensity.

"Okay," is all Cristina can think to say. She is reeling from the information, not sure what to address first. "Meredith…"

"I thought it would be okay," Meredith whispers. Her hands grab the blanket between them, clenching it almost franticly. "She was supposed to be overprotective and annoying, not dead."

"I know." Because she does. She knows that is what Meredith needs, even if she would never admit it.

There is a moment when the only noise is sharp breathing. They have become so close because they understand each other without speaking, but gazes cannot express what is needed now. If they were Izzie and Bambi, Cristina knows there would be touching. Maybe that would make it easier to talk or something, but she doesn't know how to initiate affection through her fingers. She can do a complicated procedure, but she is lost on how to express intimacy of any kind.

"I'm scared," Meredith says in a small voice that Cristina has never heard her use before. She slides closer, so that their hair mixes on the pillow,

"Of Thatcher?" Cristina spits the word. How dare he touch Meredith? How dare Shepard see and do nothing?

"Of getting close to anyone. I did that with Susan, and she died. I don't want you to die. I don't want Derek to die. I don't... I don't want me to die," she babbles, tears mixed in among the words.

Cristina reaches out a hand, touching it to Meredith's cheek. From the way she flinches, Cristina realizes belatedly it is the one her father touched. Shit. But Meredith shifts before she can take her hand back, leaning into the touch with a kind of desperation. Her body quivers with suppressed sobs, and Cristina is caught between wanting to embrace her and wanting to run.

"I'm scared, too," she whispers.

In reply, Meredith puts her hand on top of Cristina's and starts crying. Hard. She moves until their legs are touching, until bits of Christina's hair are being splattered by tears. Their fingers are stuck together by salt and sweat, but its okay. Somehow, it's okay.

"I want to be your maid of honor," Meredith whispers later, when they are both on the verge of sleep.

"Good," Cristina murmurs.

Meredith smiles, slow and tremulous. "Okay."

"Okay."


End file.
